Air
by JLvE
Summary: Miranda summons Andy's help after a year of silence.
1. Chapter 1

Air got sucked out of the room. She knew immediately who was standing behind her. Even before she smelled her unique scent, a mixture of _her_ with an unknown perfume – definitely unknown, she knew due to spending endless hours in parfumeshops. Smelling the different scents, looking for just a glimpse of comfort. Looking for that one part she could buy (no matter how much it would cost, she would have bought it) to have a little piece of Miranda for her own. To treasure, even if it was only to put in a box underneath her bed. She needed something she could touch, something that proofed that it had not been only her mind, her misinterpretations. Proof that no matter how lonely she felt, a little part of Miranda would be there to comfort her. Even if it wasn't Miranda at all. In the end she didn't know if she was more delusioned by not finding it, or more relieved that no one could accidently buy the same perfume as The Ice Queen.

'Spending you're time for charity I see.' Her light words, thrown with the sharpness of a knife cut through the air.

Andy turned around, unsurprised, smiling politely. 'Such a delight. The way you effortlessly replace air with venom. I dare almost say I missed it.' _No. but I missed you. _She thought.

Piercing blue eyes. Of course Miranda hadn't expected this kind of answer. No one stood up to the her, especially not an former assistant with a bad record because of leaving at the most vulnerable moment. A little anger slipped through her look, expectantly fast replaced with the usual mark of boredom.

'Well, one probably has a hard time breathing in this…' she waved her hand, 'pity excuse for an office.'

It was a small space with 4 desks where they were standing, stuffed with papers and computers. One side of the room contained windows, so it was quite light, though Andrea would admit, a bit dusty. 'Luckily for you the amount of useful information doesn't correlate with the emptiness of an office, otherwise Runway would be destroyed by the end of the year.'

Miranda raised an Eyebrow. It was an insult, definitely, but she was used to be insulted. Well, not really out loud, but part of being Editor in Chief was that she had ears everywhere. She had heard worse things. Deciding to ignore the offending tone in the reply she changed subject.

'Emily, show the bags.' A skinny, not-at-all looking-like-Emily dark haired girl stepped from behind Miranda. She had dull eyes and something nervous around her. Like a mouse permanently searching the surrounding for danger. Probably a right thing to do around Miranda Priestly. The girls hands were full with what seemed like 10 or 12 Louis Vuitton bags.

_Definitely choosing the skinny, dumb girls again. I must have been a real disappointment. _

The girl dropped the bags at the already full desk, which made it look like Miranda had walked by several times without collecting her bag on the way out. Andrea noticed though, that the leather was a bit less supple than she had seen before, and the stiches where… odd. Not high fashionably new season like odd, but more: almost perfect odd. Almost. _They're fake ones. _Louis Vuitton had perfectness as his life-motto, _so did Miranda except for the fact that she already was perfect to begin with, _it would not have been possible that stitches like those were made on a real LV bag. So the question was: why would Miranda have fake Louis Vuitton bags, and secondly, why on earth would she bring them to Andrea, since a) she didn't work for Runway anymore b) she wasn't known to be a 'natural' with fashion and c) Miranda hadn't spoken to her in almost a year, and despised Andrea even more than insects and anti-fur demonstrators.

'My Christmas bonus?' she joked lamely.

'Find out where they are from, or rather whó they're from, why I get them and what they want. That's all.' Miranda turned around and began walking through the door. Her mouse following her.

'Wait, what?!' _Wrong beginning of your sentence! A question ánd a demand. After you insulted her. You certainly lost your brain together with your phone in the fountain. _'I mean… do enlighten me… please. On this delicate matter with fake LV bags that apparently are a problem of some sorts to Runway, and why I, who work no lónger for Runway but for the Mirror (she emphasized that fact), need to be involved?' _Great. So much for the kindness…_

Miranda stopped walking. But did not turn around. A soft sigh of annoyance crossed the room. 'Because you. owe. me.' And with that said she disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

Because I forgot it on the other chapter: I, of course, do not own anything.

Great. Andy thought. She comes. She disappears. And leaves a mess to deal with. How classic.

Looking at the bags she quickly categorized them into last seasons and 'older'-ones. There wasn't really a pattern, about half of them recent. Did she get them together? One at the time? Did she get them herself or where they meant for Runway in general? Were they sent at all? Or was it just a mistake from her new assistant in picking up the wrong bags (_Hardly possible, but still)_?

Rolling her big brown eyes Andy tilted the bags off her desk, opened up her laptop and started typing.

**Dear Miranda,**

She didn't know how to continue.

_Dear Miranda, _

_Thank you for visiting today. I missed you terribly and even though I acted like your equal and tried to impress you with your own behaviour I felt like jelly and wanted to melt like caramelized sugar. _No,not really the right tone. Or right lines for that matter.

_Dear Miranda, _

_Who do you think you are? Insulting me (or rather my workspace, but since I love my work, that still counts the same), demanding me, leaving/'that's all' me with a thousand questions and a bunch of ugly bags? Seriously?! _Nope. Let's not write that too. There was no use at being angry or love-sick. It would not do her case any good. Respectful and distant were the words.

_Dear Miranda,_

_Please forgive me for leaving you in Paris and for you know… Well, you know. I shall have a look at the bags, but I really do not want to work for you anymore. Since that would mean that I would have to be around you. And you know very well that being around you makes me both mean and trembling towards you. _She sighed. This would not work. She didn't even know why she mentally offered to help Miranda. Yes. She probably owed her. Just like every human being owed her by accidently breathing in oxygen that perhaps the Ice Queen may or may not wanted to breathe herself. _And the other reason why you owe her._ But she shouldn't, wouldn't, not like some 'second assistant', help her with something that was absolutely not her job anymore. She would simply not allow her to be used again. Last time it costed her already more than enough. Standing up to pour herself some coffee, Josh walked in, smirking in surprise to find a decade of bags in the office.

'Couldn't restrain yourself? Didn't think you were the emotion-shopper-kinda-girl, but it suits you actually. Or perhaps, suitcases-you.' He winked.

Andy smiled. Josh was her colleague who was 'the-new-one' before her. He had brown curls and watery blue eyes. He was boyish and quite friendly to her, sometimes on the edge of flirting. She liked him a lot, considered him as an at-least-work-and-potential-personal-friend. 'I admit I am tempted to buy things when I'm stressed, but they are more the grilled-cheese sandwich and chocolate chip cookies kind of products.'

He laughed. 'Well that makes two of us. People should keep any form of chocolate away from me within a range of 500 meters at least.'

'Really? How feminine.' Andy teased. 'But good to know, if I ever need anything from you I'll just buy you some big Easter egg made out of different types of chocolate.'

'That would make me absolutely and completely at your mercy. I would keep an parasol above your head or wave you cool air like some Egyptian slave to keep you happy… And keep the chocolate from melting.' They both laughed. 'But, consider this knowledge top secret. The valuability of information is sometimes opposite to the amount of people holding that information.' He winked again. 'So… Your turn'

'Turn for what? I already told you about the cookies and..' she got interrupted.

'No no, my secret for your secret. Tell me something about you, you're such a mystery. The hard-working, always-friendly, intelligent beautiful brown-eyed girl. Who never talks about her personal life, not even when she gets tipsy at drinking night on Friday.' He leaned to his desk and examined her face with genuine curiosity.

'Well, ehm, I don't know.. I…' she got stuck in her sentence. A blush crept to her face.

Deciding not to pressure her, Josh looked reassuring to her and nodded his head to the side of her desk. 'Or you could tell me about the bags of course. They're almost as much a mystery.'

_How true that. _'They are for research. For ehm, my ehm, new article… about, about if the fashion industry is affected negative or stimulated by the making and selling of false copies of haute couture.'

'Really? New article? Nice! Good subject, you'll probably know a lot about it since you worked at Runway. I gotta go though, just came by to pick up a few journals and my laptop.' He shoved a dark green rucksack on his shoulder and smiled another time to Andy. 'See you later.'

Andy smiled back and waved. 'See you.'

Walking back to her desk she made up her mind. She would do it. In the end she knew very well she was not able to deny Miranda anything. But she wouldn't do it on Miranda's conditions. The least she could do was pretend to have some armor around her. _Perhaps she could buy a horse. _

Quickly she wrote:

**Dear Miranda,**

**Though I am unaware of your reasons why you want my help, I shall try my best to find out the reason why you receive those bags. But, as I am not your employee anymore, you'll need to provide me with some information about how you got them and if they were accompanied with other possible information. Notes perhaps?**

**I know I owe you. I just didn't think you would ask this in return.**

**Sincerely,**

**Andy.**

Pressing the 'send' button, she closed her laptop and grabbed her coat. Where better to start a quest than the market?


	3. Chapter 3

Andy loved Markets. They resembled free-time to her. On her happiness-barometer they stood right under libraries and puppy's and above cereal commercials. People on markets were not necessarily prettier or better-mooded or more gentle. But the unorganized walking and talking around her made her feel comfortable. And the products always looked a bit more delicious than in the stores. And, there was so much weird… stuff… you could buy on markets. Like anti-dust napkins for your goldfish bowl or tamagotchi's . She smiled inwardly, walking along the different stands searching for the aspect that everybody knew about that markets had: they sold fake, copied design products.

After two hours and nearly three rounds of searching she came to two conclusions:

The bags that she so 'preciously' received from the Queen were not coming from this market.

And probably not from any market, because the bags on the stalls were an insult to the designers they reproduced it from.

'_Been around Miranda for too long. Sneering in your thoughts and opinions. And accustomed to a certain standard of quality.' _She thought. The conclusions confused Andy a little bit. The bags were obviously not designer, but obviously not thát fake also. What were they then? Not even to mention the why question.

Andy checked her mobile phone and was surprised when a reply from Miranda had appeared.

**Dear Andrea,**

**First, as much as you prefer a boy's name, I'll kindly stick towards your real one. Second, I do not understand why you should bother me with your questions, if I had he information I wouldn't have come to you, now wouldn't I? Third, Why don't you tell me how they appeared in my office every month, after all that is you job and not mine.**

**Miranda**

Andy laughed. And felt pain. It was typically Miranda, to be stern and harsh, to sweep you away with just a few letters or sounds or even a glare, to make you feel small. But she gladly noticed she had not lost the ability to read the woman. Delivering the information she needed, only wrapped up in some difficult shiny insult like an mirror maze you need to go through in order to get to the treasure. The words of the e-mail lingered in the air, especially the word _dear_. Miranda thought about every single move she made, like a permanent game of chess with every atom in her surroundings. She could not have accidentally typed it wrong. She felt warm liquid flowing through her chest, but also a sharp cutting, she wouldn't have worked so hard to regain herself in the last months to just let that crumble away by one 'dear'. She was stronger than that, gained trust in herself in the time that was probably as dark as the middle ages. _And twice as long._ The had in a cold-turkey way learned that, if Miranda was hypothetically hit by a car and Miranda would die, that it would hurt, beyond measurable proportions, but she would live. She was not physically attached to Miranda, nor did they share the same body. She would hypothetically survive. But the question was ever, did she _want _to be without Miranda? Would she take this… situation, whatever it was… as an opportunity to try to gain traces of her, to produce memory's and label them as valuable? Or would she choose the hold-your-breath-and-wait-till-it-is-over tactic? She hadn't thought about it, but before diving further in this she would need to decide. As a second peace of armour.

So she would not answer the e-mail yet. Of course there was enough work at the Mirror waiting for her to be written and the market stroll had been an entertaining and quite informative activity, but it was not pay-check-work and her boss wouldn't be too happy if he found out. She was, after all, new and had not yet the freedom to write about anything coming up in her mind.

Andy went back to the office, finishing her article and answering her work-emails till evening approached. At 7 PM She was ready to go home, but got a little stuck with the ever presence of those leather little scoops. She could almost feel the way they grinned their open-zipped grins to her, like the sarcastic snarls of the White woman. She could not leave them behind, tomorrow everybody would be there for the morning-meeting and that would raise unwanted questions. But to take them home… All of them…

Well. Again, she hadn't really a choice. She'd have to take them with her. Grabbing the bags and walking to the subway she felt like Mirada's assistant all over again. Accept for that she wasn't holding a fortune on bags, she was holding fake bags. Just as fake as her non-existent (work)relationship with Miranda.


End file.
